Fenton had been crying out that the kettle was boiling; and yet, when
Meredith stopped reading nobody was in a hurry to move. The little group
lying there upon the pine branches was as quiet as the day; and there is
no describing the beauty of that rest in which nature for the moment
seemed to be still. The delicate clear blue overhead; the still racks of
white cloud here and there upon it, doing nothing and going nowhere,
only lying fair on the blue; the breathless atmosphere in which an aspen
leaf would have hung motionless; the broad river below moving its strong
current so silently and so unobtrusively; there was no token of motion,
unless in a vessel which was slowly drifting down while her sails hung
windless by the mast; the profound quiet had something imposing. I
cannot tell how, some grave, sweet influence seemed to press upon every
heart in the company; and for a few minutes after the reader's voice
ceased, the stillness was significant.
"We seem to be out of the world!" Flora remarked at last in an
undertone.
"Why?" Mr. Murray asked.
"I don't know. Confusions and disturbance are nowhere in sight. It is
all peace."
"And purity," added Meredith.
"How nice if one could live so!" Flora went on.
"You may, to a great degree, live so," said Mr. Murray. "It will not be
always October, and your couch may not always be such a feathery one;
and yet, Miss Flora--I fancy that Pastor Breyhan lived in very much such
an atmosphere all his life."
"The story is just in harmony with the day and the place; isn't it?"
said Meredith.
"It is odd that one can be interested in such a story," said Flora. "And
yet I have been interested."
"For that very reason, I suppose," said Mr. Murray. "There is something
breathing out, both from the story and the day, which we all know we
want,--unless we have got it already."
"But, Mr. Murray, one cannot live in the world and be quiet," said
Flora.
"There is a promise or two, however, to that effect. 'When He giveth
quietness, then who can make trouble?' And the Master said to His
disciples, 'Peace I leave with you.' 'He that cometh to me shall never
hunger.'"
"I wish I knew what it means!" said Flora, furtively getting rid of a
tear which had somehow found its way into her eye.
"I'll tell you what," cried Fenton, "if you don't come, the water will
all boil away. Don't you mean ever to have luncheon? I don't know what
you are thinking of, with your old stories!"
This brought the party to their feet. And now, some went at unpacking
and arranging the things which had been brought along in bag and basket;
Flora lit the spirit lamp and set the coffee a-going; while Meredith and
Fenton put the potatoes in the ashes and took care of the process of
roasting the oysters. It was not so warm to-day that the fire was
disagreeable, which was lucky, as the oysters demanded a good bed of
coals; the potatoes likewise. Finally, Meredith set about making a
friar's omelet. When all was ready and the tea drawn, they sat round the
fire on the grass, and made a most miscellaneous and most enjoyable
meal.
"Coffee! how good the coffee is!" said Meredith.
"And did you _ever_ see such good roast oysters?" cried Maggie.
"They ought to be good," Fenton growled; "they cost a precious sight of
work to get 'em up here."
"And Ditto's omelet is so nice!"--Maggie went on.
"If one could live in the open air!" said Meredith, "how good it would
be. I do not mean the omelet! but everything else. It's a great loss to
live in houses."
"Lots of convenience, though," said Fenton.
"Look at the heap of oyster-shells Fenton is throwing behind him!" cried
Maggie presently.
"What's that to you?" said Fenton. "There are oysters enough. Don't
meddle. If anything is a nuisance it is a meddling girl."
"How about a meddling boy?" Mr. Murray asked.
"Boys don't meddle," said Fenton. "It is girls."
"I suppose that is because the boys do the things that have to be
meddled with," said Maggie sagely.
Fenton scowled, but the others laughed, and the meal went merrily
forward.
"How much time have we?" Flora asked.
"For what?"
"For staying here, and reading. How long before we must break up and go
home?"
"We can take our own time," said Meredith. "The tide will be good.
Indeed it will be only getting better and better. It will turn about two
o'clock."
"We must get home in time for dinner," observed Fenton, however.
"I really should think you might wait a while for that," said Esther.
"Uncle Eden, if anybody else comes here this fall, they will see exactly
what we had for lunch."
"How so?"
"There are the egg-shells, and potato-skins, and Fenton's heap of
oyster-shells."
"You do not think we will leave them here? Besides, there are several
heaps of oyster-shells, I think; they are not all Fenton's."
"Fenton's is the biggest. But what will you do with all these things,
Uncle Eden?"
"Carry them away."
"Where to, sir?" asked Fenton.
"Down the hill."
"Why, sir?"
"How would you like such a quantity of rubbish left in the woods at
Mosswood, by some happy picnic party?"
"This isn't Mosswood, sir."
"No, it is some other wood."
"But it is nobody's ground."
"How can you venture to affirm that?"
"Well, I mean, it is nobody's ground in particular."
"That is more than you or I know, my boy, and is moreover highly
improbable. We are certainly not intruding on anybody's privacy; but we
have no right even here to leave things worse than we found them?"
"And we have got to lug all this trash down to the river again?"
"What do you think?"
Fenton thought it was "no end of a bore;" nobody else, however, did
anything but laugh at him. After the oysters were all disposed of, the
oyster-shells went back into the bag, ready for transportation; Fenton
remarking with great disgust that they were just as heavy and took up
more room than before. Egg-shells and potato-skins were swept up; cups
packed away; coffee and teapot restored to the basket; hands washed; and
finally the group gathered again on their couch of pine branches to
enjoy every minute. They had a good space of time left them still, and
the day promised to finish its fair course without change, except change
of beauty. Fenton joined the group now, having nothing to do, and
hopeless of inducing them to break up before the last possible minute.
"What are you going to give us this afternoon, Meredith?" Mr. Murray
asked.
"I have been keeping it, sir; one of my best; a story out of the Thirty
Years' War. Shall I read?"
"By all means."
"'In the parish of Hermannsburg there is a forest-house, situated about
an hour and a half from the church village; the place is called Queloh,
and it lies in the midst of the forest. On the other side, about a
quarter of an hour further on is a beautiful beech wood, which goes by
the name of Buchhorst. In old times this place was inhabited by two
peasants who belonged to the wide-spread peasant family of Weesen. The
name of the one was Drewes, and of the other Hinz. They were both good
and God-fearing men, and with their whole hearts devoted to the dear
Lutheran church. Those were the times of the Thirty Years' War in which
they lived, and they had to bear their share in all the distresses which
that miserable war brought with it; they bore it also willingly, for the
Lord's sake.
"'Although they had been stripped of their goods a number of times by
the Catholic soldiers, they had nevertheless preserved their most
precious things, that is, their books; their Bibles, singing books and
catechisms. These were, you must know, very necessary to them, for in
those days there were as yet no village schools. In the entire parish of
Hermannsburg there was but a single school, and that was in the church
village; and this school was attended by the children only for one year,
or it might be only half a year, previous to their confirmation. For all
the rest, every house-father must himself play the schoolmaster. And in
many respects, those must have been glorious times. Every evening when
the fire was kindled on the hearth of the so-called Flett'" (a sort of
hall or common room between the barn and the house), "'and the women
were busy on the hearth with their cooking, the house-father with the
whole of the household assembled around the fire--children, servants,
and maids. Then the little ones were instructed in spelling and reading,
in which business the servants and maids were faithful helpers of the
house-father. After that, the catechism was taken in hand; some
spiritual songs were sung; a portion was read aloud from the Bible and
talked about, in the course of which very lovely and profitable words
were often spoken; the old histories and legends and stories of the
country, handed down from father to son, came in for their share of
attention; the laws, manners, and usages which custom had made binding
were discussed; and the "Flett" hour was one so full of enjoyment and
so full of instruction that it was looked forward to during the whole
day by both old and young. And this "Flett" hour was a strong fortress
against the intrusion of innovations; and it can be shown, that the new
ways, that is, the godless new ways, never came until the "Flett" hours
were given up. This Flett'" (or great middle hall of the house) "'with
its hearth was as it were the home sanctuary, in a certain degree the
domestic altar. From there, too, the peasant could overlook his whole
house and prevent any disorders. Usually there was only one
dwelling-room in the house, called the "Doenz," which, however, was for
the most part used merely for eating and spinning, and served for the
whole, for grandparents and father and mother and children and men and
maids; for the meals were also in common; and that old people should be
portioned off and take what was called their part, was a thing unheard
of; it would have brought unending disgrace upon the peasant's head. It
was just as little thought possible that the peasant should take his
meals separate from his men and maid-servants; they all formed one great
family.
"'I said awhile ago, that in the ravages of the war these people had
saved what they held dearest, namely, their books. They had managed it
in this way. In every "Doenz" the furniture consisted only of a large
table, a table with folding leaves'" (a Klapptisch--I don't know whether
that is a table that folds together, or a table shelf that folds up
against the wall), "'a cupboard, and some wooden chairs and stools; but
by the side of the stove there stood a "grandfather's chair" of more
pretension, covered with leather, in which indeed the peasant himself,
when he came home from the field in the evening, was wont to rest
himself for a while. The seat, also covered with leather, they had made
movable, so that it could be lifted up and shut down; and beneath this
seat the books were placed in security; nothing was to be seen of them
when the seat was shut down, and nobody would look for them there. And
it was quite needful that they should preserve their books so
carefully; for the Catholic soldiers in the Thirty Years' War waged a
regular war of extermination against Lutheran books.
"'One evening, Drewes the father, that is, the farmer, was sitting in
his house, with his people around the hearth in the "Flett," and they
were just speaking of the great victory which the Lutherans under
General Torstensohn had fought for and gained at Leipzig; and the
house-father was giving his opinion that soon now surely enough blood
would have flowed, and that peace must be near. Upon that came his
neighbour hastily in and said,--"Neighbour, hurry and loose your cattle,
and let us flee to the wood; the emperor's forces are only half an hour
off." Quick everybody sprang up; the cattle were muzzled to prevent
their bellowing; the few bits of clothing and some victuals were caught
up; and away they went plunging into the thickest part of the forest, as
fast and as noiselessly as they could. Hinz closed the procession, and
when the cattle were got out of sight he took post behind a tree, that
he might see what the soldiers would do. He had not long to watch; for
it was scarcely a quarter of an hour later that bright flames went
crackling up into the sky; both houses together with the out-buildings
were in a blaze. The soldiers were enraged that they had found no booty,
and had set fire to everything. Hinz hastened now into the thick of the
wood after the others, and when he caught up with them he told them of
their misfortune. With that, they all fell upon their knees and thanked
God that he had saved their lives and their cattle; and it never came
into any one's head to weep so much as a single tear; they could build
huts for themselves in the wood; and their hearts did not hang upon
things of this world. But what is this? what could all of a sudden force
such a deep sigh from Father Drewes that it absolutely startled them
all? what could bring great tears into the eyes of that strong man, whom
nobody had ever seen weep before? "Godfather Hinz," he said with his
voice half stifled with pain,--"our books! our books! Ah, they are burnt
up by now! our own and our children's only treasure and comfort!" And
behold, they all then fell to weeping, men and women and children, men
and maids, as if their hearts would break. At last spoke out the old
Father Hinz, an eighty-years-old grey-headed man,--"Hush, children! if
our books are burned, our God and Saviour is not gone with them; we have
Him in our hearts; and His Word we have too, not only in the Bible but
in our memories. I will say out a chapter for you every morning and
every evening, out of my heart." Then they grew quiet, and he folded his
hands and began at once, and prayed first the twenty-third psalm, and
then the seventy-third psalm, and finally the eighth chapter of the
Epistle to the Romans; all verse for verse from the beginning to the
end.'"
"The twenty-third and the seventy-third?" said Maggie interrupting.
"Which are they?"
"Don't you know? The twenty-third begins,--'The Lord is my Shepherd; I
shall not want.'"
"And it goes on,--" said Mr. Murray,--"'He prepareth a table before me
in the presence of mine enemies; he anointeth my head with oil; my cup
runneth over.'"
"Not very appropriate," said Flora.
"I thought very appropriate."
"Why they were just in great want, sir; even of the most ordinary
comforts."
"A good time to remind themselves of their extraordinary comforts."
"What had they to justify them in talking of their 'cup running over?'"
"Something which they know who know, Miss Flora, and other people would
try in vain to comprehend."
"Well, the other word, 'I shall not want;'--they were in want already."
"No," said Meredith, "excuse me. I have read what comes after."
"They were in want, Ditto, certainly."
"Only such want--never mind, I will not forestall my story."
"What is the other psalm?" Flora asked.
"Very beautiful in this connection," said Mr. Murray, who had got out
his Bible. "It begins,--'Truly God is good to Israel, even to such as
are of a clean heart.'"
"There again!" said Flora, "what reason had they just then to think that
He was good?"
"That is faith, Miss Flora."
"Faith?" the young lady repeated.
"Yes. Faith takes on trust, when it cannot see."
Flora looked at the speaker.
"The psalm goes on to describe the temptations to doubt which had beset
the psalmist on observing the prosperity of wicked people and the hard
times the Lord's people often had; and then how he saw his mistake; and
then he breaks out, 'Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there is none
upon earth that I desire beside Thee. My flesh and my heart faileth, but
God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.'"
"That is beautiful, and appropriate," said Flora.
"As soon as a man gets where he can say--'Thou shalt guide me with Thy
counsel, and afterward receive me to glory,'--he can stand a few ups and
downs in this life. The choice of passages made by that old man was
beautiful in the extreme; and proved not only that he knew the Bible,
but that it was part of his life."
"And the chapter of Romans?"
"A worthy third in the trio. That is a chapter of triumph in the
Christian's privilege and hopes, ending--'Who shall separate us from the
love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or
famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?... Nay, in all these things we
are more than conquerors, through Him that loved us. For I am persuaded,
that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers,
nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any
other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which
is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'"
Flora's eyes filled, and she said nothing; and Meredith took up his book
again.
"There is another word in that chapter that fits, sir--'All things shall
work together for good to them that love God.'"
"It would certainly take faith to believe _that_," said Flora. "I can
imagine a little that other things and hopes might console people
suffering trouble in their persons and goods; but now, for instance,
what possible benefit could it be to those people to have their houses
burned, and to be driven into the wild wood with no shelter and nothing
or very little to eat, and likewise very little to put on?"
"Well, I had better read," said Meredith. "Pastor Harms stops there,
after telling how old Drewes recited Scripture, and asks, 'Could my dear
readers all of them have done as much? just ask yourselves once quietly;
and whoever is forced to say, "I could not do it," let him be ashamed
from the bottom of his heart!
"'A special impression was made by the words, "Though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death," &c., and those others, "My heart and my
flesh faileth," &c., and again, "I am persuaded, that neither death nor
life," &c., and after they had all sat still a while, they raised their
heads up cheerfully, took each other's hands, and broke out with one
voice in the words--
"'"Dennoch bleibe ich stets an Dir," &c.'"
"What does that mean, Ditto?"
"'Nevertheless, I am continually with thee.' 'Then they went quietly to
sleep in the wood, and lodged there beautifully, warm and safe under the
wings of their God, and beneath the sheltering arms of the fir-trees; so
that the sun was already shining through the branches when they waked
up. Then they milked the cows, to get some breakfast for the children,
and after that they all gathered round the old father to remind him of
his promise. And the old man did not delay, but prayed first the
twenty-seventh, and then the forty-second and forty-third psalms, and
for the last, the twelfth chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews; so
devoutly and so confidingly and so unhesitatingly, that they all could
not have supposed but that he was reading to them out of the big Bible
that had been under the arm-chair; and in most of the parts they prayed
with him word for word. Then they looked gratefully to the old man, and
after they had first asked the blessing, then drunk the milk, and at
last said grace, the others remained in the wood; but the two peasants,
Drewes and Hinz, with their two servants, set out to go back to the
place where their houses had stood. As they went off, the old Father
Hinz called after them, as if he were in a dream,--"Children, see about
the books too!" Slowly they drew near the place of the conflagration;
carefully listening and looking around them; but nothing was to be seen
or heard, all was as still as death, only the birds were hopping and
singing in the branches. At last they came within view of the place
where the fire had been; but just as they were about to run thither, a
low moaning came to their ears from the corner of the wood, near the
place of the fire. They were Christians, therefore they did not do like
the priest and the Levite, but like the kind-hearted Samaritan; they
went off towards the quarter from which the moans came; and what did
they see? Two badly-wounded soldiers, sitting in the two grandfather's
chairs at the corner of the wood. How came they there? The troops on
their march through had had these wounded fellows with them; who for
their weakness proved unable to go any further; so their comrades
determined to leave them behind. But to let the houses stand for the
sake of affording them shelter, was more than the inflamed rage of the
soldiers, disappointed at finding everything empty, could see their way
to. However to show some sort of humanity to their comrades, they had
dragged the two old chairs out of the houses to the corner of the wood,
placed the wounded men in them, and then completed their work of
destruction; following which they had all marched off. And now, when the
wounded soldiers saw standing before them the four men whose houses
their comrades had laid in ashes, they looked for nothing else but
death. But not anger nor revenge, but peace, yes, blessed joy, beamed
from the faces of those four men; God had certainly saved their beloved
books for them. Now they did not care that their houses were gone. The
soldiers were treated, not as foes, but as benefactors. They carried
them away into the wood where the rest of the people were; and when the
chairs were seen, and the seats were lifted up, and the books found
uninjured, then there was a thanksgiving and praising and glorifying so
loud and so glad, that the angels in heaven must have joined in; the
very little children ran to the books and kissed them devoutly and
gleefully. The two soldiers were tended as if they had been blood
kindred; milk was given them to drink; and now, also, since the host of
incendiaries had marched away, the way was open to fetch food again out
of the villages. It was proposed to bring the wounded men to the nearest
hamlet; but they were too weak for it; and they begged that they might
be kept in the huts in the wood. And now it came to pass that nothing
refreshed those two soldiers more than old Father Hinz's talk from the
Word of God, and his prayers. Even at the eleventh hour, they turned to
the Lord Jesus; and the pastor in Hermannsburg gave them the Holy
Communion after they had confessed their sins, had received the
assurance of forgiveness, and had declared that they believed in Jesus
Christ, the only-begotten Son of God, and were persuaded that His body
and blood were truly represented to them in the bread and the wine. This
communion was a right blessed day of joy for the inhabitants of the
wood. But God was preparing for them yet another special rejoicing. For
when the last hour of the two soldiers was drawing near, they summoned
the old father and the two peasants to their dying bed, thanked them
anew with tears in their eyes for the salvation which they had found for
their souls, and made over to them the legacy of their military
doublets; with the intimation, that after they were dead, they should
rip out the seams of them. This was done, when the men had first been
honourably buried; and now were discovered, sewed into the doublets,
such a stock of gold pieces, that not only the burned-down houses and
stables could be built again, but also the men and maids might receive a
handsome reward, and a new altar cloth could be given to the church at
Hermannsburg.
"'The lord of the manor of Hermannsburg had assigned to the two soldiers
a place in his portion of the churchyard, where, at the north-east
corner of the churchyard wall, their graves were covered with a stone.
This stone lay there until, after the male line of the lord of the manor
had died out, the so-called Allodium was sold, and along with it this
stone. It bore the following inscription:--
"'"ANNO 1642 DOMINI NOSTRI JESU CHRISTI MORTEM OBIERUNT ET HOC LOCO
SEPULTI SUNT FRIEDERICUS WENCESLAUS BOHEMUS ET MARTINUS JURISCHITZ
LUSACIUS, QUI BIBLIA INSCII SERVAVERANT ET PER BIBLIA IN AETERNUM SERVATI
SUNT:" that is,
"'"In the year of our Lord Jesus Christ 1642 died and are here buried
Friedrich Wenzel of Bohemia, and Martin Jurischitz of Lusatia; who
without knowing it had saved the Bible, and through the Bible have been
themselves saved unto everlasting life."
"'On the other side of the stone stood the words--"Hinnerk Hinz and
Peter his son and Drewes Johan have had this stone erected for two gold
gulden out of the Landsknecht's doublet."
"'Two years after the end of the Thirty Years' War, those two peasants,
of their own free will, pulled down their houses in the Buchhorst and
built them up again in the village of Wesen; for the reason, that after
the devastations of those years the wolves had so got the upper hand
that it was no longer possible to be secure from them. Twice, with great
difficulty, they had recovered their children from the wolves, which
already had them in their grip and were dragging them off; and then they
thought, to stay there longer would be to tempt God. Those two farms
are still in Wesen and are yet called Drewes' farm and Hinz's farm,
although the possessors in these latter days have long borne other
names. May God give us from this old story the blessing, that we may be
ever more as strong in the Bible and as firm in faith as the men of old
were.'"